ANIMAL MAGNETISM
Fafard’s sculptures changed our urban landscape
There are many ways to measure an artist’s impact on a city, and in Joe Fafard’s case, you could easily do it in terms of scale, in actual tonnes.
In his trio of public artworks standing along some of Edmonton’s most-travelled paths, Fafard’s bison, horse and bull sculptures are monuments to creatures fundamental to our survival for millennia — and it’s thus their out-of-place, winking presence in a now-paved urban environment that’s as important as anything else, that subtle jab about what we’ve somehow half forgotten.
“If people hadn’t domesticated the cow,” he told the Journal’s Alan Kellogg in 2007, “there wouldn’t be any damned contemporary life.”
Not that Fafard’s sculptures are lofty “high art” exactly — public art almost couldn’t be more accessible. How many kids have been plopped onto his horses across the country over the decades?
But the skill with which Fafard deployed his bronze beauties down to the eyelashes takes an almost folk-art sensibility to tremendous heights, and for this he needs to be acknowledged and remembered.
Canada’s loss, Joe Fafard died at home near Lumsden, Sask., last week after a two-year fight with cancer at 76 years old.
His partner Alyce Hamon said in the statement, “Joe died the way he lived, simply, unpretentiously, in complete serenity, with a twinkle in his eye, but above all with the full love of his family and friends.”
His five children include his daughter Gina, who co-owns Regina’s Slate Fine Art Gallery.
Besides them, Fafard’s accomplishments are many — the Order of Canada, the Saskatchewan Order of Merit, numerous honorary doctorates, a series of Canada Post stamps featuring his artwork.
Then, of course, there’s the simple reality of having his human and especially large-scale animal sculptures deployed in streets, parks and galleries across the planet, including all over Canada — with Running Horse in front of the National Gallery in Ottawa.
Looking at it, Edmonton’s quite lucky to have three of his out in the open air — the bull and horse combo of Royal Sweet Diamond (2001) and Western Dancer (2004) at Jasper Avenue and 112 Street and the iconic Paskwamostos, meaning bison in Cree, out the concert-level doors at Edmonton Convention Centre.
An intricate three-dimensional drawing in bronze, it would be a heroic move if this one had the rust removed, was restored to its intended placement over native grasses and perhaps moved away from the doors so concertgoers are less tempted to use it as an ashtray.
About to embark on a five-week European tour but sensing the final turn in his father’s situation, Juno-nominated musician Joel Fafard recently flew home.
“I had to say goodbye. We both did. I told him I was going to stay home with him, and he wouldn’t have that.
“Getting back on that plane was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” Joel says, his voice breaking.
Thinking back on growing up in the home of a prolific, nonstop artist, “I was talking with my brother about that — it was just normal. This father who does something nobody else does.
“He worked from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. every single day, maybe the odd weekend off. But I didn’t feel disconnected. The studio was right there, and after dinner he’d have CBC radio on, and we’d come and chat about a lot of different things, sometimes the heavy things. He listened. He wasn’t just a dad.”
Joel’s voice breaks: “I lost a friend there, too.”
Fafard sculpted many things, including numerous famous portraits of Vincent Van Gogh.
Fafard’s longtime colleague and friend Victor Cicansky told the Saskatoon Star Phoenix, even at the end, “He was still creating. He was finishing up a last piece of work between feeling good and not feeling good, and it was a sculpture of Picasso sitting on a chair.
“I told him in the last couple of days when I saw him, I said, ‘You know what, you’re leaving an incredible legacy, Joe. You’ll never be forgotten.’ His work is right across the country and in other countries, you know. He was a big arts star, and he’ll always be remembered by his collectors and people who see his work in public places.”
Says his son, “Joe wasn’t hip, he wasn’t cool. He always just did what he wanted to do. He made art for himself. He wasn’t trying to figure out how to sell in Paris or New York — he made art people could relate to.”
And it’s his animals which most click with people. “He grew up on a farm, but he had a profound love for them beyond that. We came home at Christmas time. We live on the west coast, so it’s not unusual to see a bear walking through the yard. My youngest son, 11, there in Saskatchewan, he just wasn’t seeing any animals, no rabbits, nothing.”
But, “Joe’s wife was running errands and sent a text with a photo of a very large herd of deer. Joe said, ‘Let’s get in the truck!’ He knew exactly where it was. He drove the truck into the ditch, got out and races his grandson to the middle of this herd and shows him what it looks like to have a running herd of deer in front of you.
“The joy they experienced, my son remembers it as one of the greatest moments of his life. Just a little moment.”
Sometimes that’s all it takes. Next time you walk by one of Fafard’s bronze sculptures, do yourself a favour and put your hands on it, close your eyes, feel the little details. Maybe you’ll hear the echo of him joking, as he did to the Journal in 2007, “Funny, but I never thought it was a problem (to make art) that the public actually likes to see.”